LITMIR.BIZ

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up, her eyes met his. She wondered what he was thinking…if he approved of her soft pink spring outfit…what he expected from a woman in a personal relationship…why no woman had snagged him long ago….

      “Everything is delicious. Did you make the fry bread from scratch?” she asked, desperate to divert her thoughts from this strange pattern.

      He shook his head. “My mother used to cook it for my brothers and me. She used boxed biscuit mix. She said that was cheating, but she wouldn’t tell if we wouldn’t. It was our family secret.”

      “That’s a good bonding device.”

      The dark eyebrows rose in question.

      “Having a fun secret to share as a family,” she explained. “Your mother had good parenting instincts.”

      She knew his mother had died several years ago from a rare form of cancer and his father of liver malfunction associated with alcohol when the three boys had been teenagers.

      Her own parents, she mused, were alive and well, both now retired and living in Arizona. Her father had been an accountant. They’d never been very close as a family.

      She thought of all the times she could have used their help while raising Zia and finishing the work for her counseling degree. But she’d been too proud to ask and they’d been too rigid to volunteer.

      Her host’s manner seemed introspective as he gazed out the window for a moment. “She loved us. I think she would have given her life to protect us boys.”

      At his tone she again felt that odd stab of envy, as if his life had been richer than hers. She mentally sighed in disgust with herself. She was so dissatisfied of late.

      Was this the fabled midlife crisis?

      “I know the feeling,” she said, thinking of her daughter and how to pry her away from Sammy Steele.

      “How?” he asked. He glanced at her ringless hand. “Do you have children?”

      “Yes. A daughter. She’s nineteen.”

      When she didn’t add more, he asked, “Is there a father in the picture?”

      She nodded stiffly, still feeling the sting of her poor choice in a mate. “We divorced when she was four. I thought we needed a house and steady income. He liked living in a van and surfing the best waves from California to Florida and all beaches between.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

      “Do you ever hear from him?”

      “Zia does. He drops by occasionally and sends cards at Christmas and her birthday.”

      “You sound surprised.”

      “That he’d remember? I used to be. In some ways, he’s actually a good father. He cares for her. In his own way.”

      “As long as it doesn’t interfere with the surfing?”

      While his tone was ironic, his smile was real. She smiled, too. “He still surfs, but he owns a construction firm, too. He’s been married three times.”

      “You’ve never tried it again?”

      “No,” she said quite forcefully. “Once was enough.”

      It occurred to her that she’d shared more of herself with this man than with anyone in a long time. She clamped her lips together and reminded herself that she was the counselor and he was the patient.

      Well, not really, but he was part of the case that was now under her cognizance. She must maintain the proper professional distance.

      “Would you like more stew?” he asked.

      Staring at her bowl, she realized she’d eaten all of the delicious meal. “No, thank you. Everything was very good. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a treat.”

      “I hope you saved room for birthday cake. We had a joint celebration for Tony and Krista last night.”

      The cake was a little lopsided. Crumbs marred the smooth surface of the creamy icing. Four slices were missing, and she could see that it was chocolate inside.

      If it had been any more wonderful, she might have burst into tears.

      “We prefer chocolate to any other flavor,” he said.

      “So do I. I may be a chocoholic.”

      He laughed at that, a rich sound that rolled over her with the sudden pleasure of bells heard in the distance on a Sunday morning in late spring. She could have fallen in love with him for his laugh alone.

      After eating the delicious cake, which he admitted he’d made from a mix, she went over the story lines in the books she’d brought and suggested the reading order.

      “Strength must come from within,” she concluded, “but humans are clan animals. We need others. I think Krista has a good basis in life. She was secure in her mother’s love and that of your brother. From the children’s accounts, he was a good father to them.”

      “He didn’t like being tied down. As a family, they moved around a lot until his wife grew tired of it and decided to stay in one spot.”

      “Was that when they divorced?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then both your brothers died.”

      He nodded. “Within six months of each other and shortly before I stepped on a mine in a field that was supposed to have been cleared. It was sort of freakish—as if the fates were determined to wipe out the whole family.”

      “Sometimes it seems like that,” she murmured. “My records don’t indicate a marriage for you.”

      “No. I got the classic Dear John letter when I was in the army.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      His smile was unexpected. “Don’t be. Oddly, after I got over the wound to my pride, I realized I didn’t really miss her. It was having someone waiting that I missed.”

      Caileen thought this over. “You didn’t love her.”

      He shrugged. “I suppose not. Not enough for a lasting marriage, I realized later.”

      “You were wise to recognize it in time,” she said.

      “Well, she was the one who broke it off. I was merely relieved.”

      They laughed together. It was the nicest sound.

      “I’m going,” Zia said in her defiant voice.

      “What about the term paper you’re supposed to turn in next week?” Caileen asked, keeping her tone level when she really wanted to shout and forbid her daughter to go off for a weekend camping trip with the love of her life.

      Zia gave her an irritated grimace. “I hate doing term papers. I should have bought one on the Internet.”

      Caileen gave a gasp of shock. “That would be cheating.”

      “Mother, you are such a Puritan.”

      “Maybe so, but you have a whole summer coming up—”

      “That’s months away!”

      “Two months isn’t a lifetime.”

      “Living here feels like it,” Zia grumbled, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough that Caileen could have ignored the statement.

      “When you can make it on your own, you’re free to do so,” she told her daughter, wishing Zia hadn’t inherited her stubborn genes.

      Zia looked mulish, but said, “I’ll just go for tonight and come back in the morning and finish the stupid paper.”

      “That sounds like a reasonable plan.”

      Zia flounced down the hall to her room. Caileen ate her dinner and took the plate to

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